The Note
by Cats070911
Summary: Barbara is called to a grisly scene. Will learning the truth bring her peace? Note: this deals with a sensitive subject. Please take care when reading.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note**: all usual disclaimers apply. Warning: this story deals with suicide, so if you feel this may upset you, please do not read it. Remember, help services are always available, but sometime people do not have the skills or desire to use them. And it is important to read Chapter 2!

* * *

"You have reached the voicemail of Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley. I am unable to take your call. Please leave your name, number and a message and I will return your call as soon as possible."

Detective Sergeant Barbara Havers grunted. She waited until the beep. "Hiya. Just me ringing to see how that hoof of yours is going. I thought I might drop in on the way home and see if you need anything... Okay then, talk soon."

She put the phone back in her pocket and logged off her computer. It was ten to eight. By the time she used the bathroom, her long and boring shift would be over.

"Sarge?"

Barbara turned in the direction of the voice. Her stomach felt suddenly heavy. She was going to be asked to work longer just when she was planning to head to Belgravia. A week into his sick leave, which ostensibly to allow a ligament in his ankle to heal, she alone knew he was battling a resurgence of his demons.

"Yes, Alfred?"

The usually brusque desk sergeant walked towards her. "Sorry, but all the other teams are busy. Some toff in Belgravia topped himself. The gunshot was reported by neighbours. The local boys broke in. He made a mess. Brains all over the place."

Barbara put her hand on the desk and braced against her chair to stop her legs giving way. "What's the address?"

Alfred checked his notebook. "Umm, Eaton... so many streets with that name around there... ah, here it is, Eaton Terrace."

Barbara slumped into her chair.

* * *

Barbara took a deep breath as she walked through the dark front door, now hanging precariously off one hinge where the battering ram had forced it open.

"Sergeant Havers?"

She nodded. Her mouth was too dry to speak.

"I'm Constable Williams. The body is in the study."

Barbara walked to the room without need of directions. She looked around. Bookcases of leather books splattered with bloodied skin and dark hair and soft white goo that she presumed had once held deep thoughts, lined one wall. A large mahogany desk sat near the window. The heavy maroon curtains were drawn. The Chesterfield swivel chair had been forced into the middle of the room by the blast. The body sagged forward on its knees. Oddly, she had expected it to be splayed backwards but could see from the blood spray how the shock of the gunshot had first send it back before it recoiled. Blood dripped onto the thick green carpet from what remained of the head. A large brown stain had formed beneath the chair.

"It's a bit of mess.," the young constable said. "He used both barrels. Guess he wanted to be sure."

"Yeah." Barbara scanned the room again. Nothing looked out of place. A decanter of whiskey sat on the desk. Barely a finger was left, suggesting he had taken plenty of Dutch courage. The glass was lying on its side on the carpet.

"We found a note, so we a pretty sure it was suicide."

"Okay. Is SOCO here?"

"Not yet. We haven't found anything suspicious. Dr Lafferty is on his way. If he wants to call them..."

"Thank you. Call them anyway. It's routine and we... owe it to him to be sure it's not an elaborate murder. Do you have the note?"

"Yeah, hang on. I'll get it."

Barbara had seen enough. She took a final glance at the body and shook her head. "Why did you do it?" she mumbled to herself. "Surely you had someone to help you?"

She turned and walked to the lounge room where the police had established their administrative base. "Has anyone contacted the next-of-kin?"

"Not yet. We... thought you might prefer to do that, Sergeant."

Barbara closed her eyes and nodded. It was a call see dreaded. "Fine. I should read the note first. It might help with any questions."

A female constable handed her a plastic sleeve. Inside was the bloodstained note. "Mainly goes on about how helpless he felt. How he couldn't cope with his responsibilities, being lonely after the death of his wife..."

Barbara our up her hand. "Thank you. Maybe it's best if I read it without the summary."

The young woman's eyes widened. "Err, sorry, Sergeant. It's quite long. I just thought..."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to snap, but I might see something less obvious if I am not prejudiced by already knowing the content."

"Sure. Sorry." The woman backed away then hurried out of the door.

Barbara sighed. Her neck was stiff and her muscles had tightened across her skull. After rolling her head around her shoulders to stave off the inevitable headache, she looked around and spotted a wing chair. Havers sat then began to read.

_Firstly, I would like to apologise to whoever finds my body. I will it be somewhat gruesome, but I wished to ensure a rapid death without fear of bungling it._

_In any suicide, the first question asked is why? The second, why didn't they tell someone or ask for help? And the third is could I have prevented this?_

_Let me answer in reverse order. Once I made my decision, nothing would have changed it. I know the manner of my death will cause pain to my family, my friends, and maybe some colleagues. For that I am sorry, but it is nothing compared to the pain I have lived through these last years. I cannot remember the time I was last happy. Odd days certainly, but not the sustained contentment a man should enjoy. _

_Then I ask myself, have I ever been happy? What is happiness? I look at children in the park and see them playing with abandon as they run around and scream. I was never that child. From the earliest age, I was taught to be constrained and sensible in a manner befitting my future. Being born into privilege is assumed to be a blessing. It's not. It's a curse. From the day I was born, my destiny was a noose around my neck slowly choking me with expectations and responsibilities. My life was mapped out - my school, my university, my profession. Yes, I rebelled by not conforming and going into the city before returning to run my estate, but I have paid for that dearly in so many, many ways. I sought purpose and meaning. I dared dream of fulfilment. I even hoped for love. All eluded me. I have had glimpses of happiness—so tantalisingly close that at times I believed I could reach it, only to have it snatched away. My wife, my child, my hope of family and a dynasty all taken. _

_So, no, this could not have been prevented. My heart is empty, drained of the last drop of hope. Only one person will understand that, but they will also be wondering why their help and love was not enough. It was. It sustained me for years when my life had gone. I loved her with all the best elements of me, but that also cones with the worst ones. I couldn't destroy her too. I ruin lives. Holding onto to her is unfair. My loyal offsider, my best friend, deserves more. My only regret is that I never had the courage to tell her how I felt. I wish I had been brave enough to sweep her in my arms and love her like no other man could. But as wonderful as that would have been, it would also have shattered her illusion we had created a higher, more spiritual love. So I leave that intact. _

_That just leaves why? There is no specific reason. Tonight is no worse than a thousand others. But it is time. I have had enough. Another day will only delay the inevitable. While my mind is clear, I must act. It is hard to describe the feeling that prolonged depression brings. It's not sadness. There is no black dog leaping around I side me. It's is just emptiness, a hollow feeling that only your skin exists held up by bones. It is feeling you have no substance, no meaning, no purpose. It's like trying to do everything you can but it never being enough. It's wanting to socialise but not being able to face it. It is drinking too much but never being able to forget. It is going to bed exhausted and waking up an hour later unable to sleep. It is dragging yourself to work and forcing yourself to smile when all you want to do is run. Or sit in the corner and rock back and forth. It is wanting to live but knowing people would be happier if you died. It is wanting to bury you head in the arms of someone but knowing they think you are an annoying fool. Guilt. Frustration. Worry. Indecision. They are my companions._

_If you are sad, don't cry. I am at peace. Nothing more can hurt me. If you are angry, rage. Rage against the strictures of society that constrain us. Rage against our class system and it's relenting need to divide us. Rage against whatever crushes your soul before it becomes the hollow, crumpled shell that mine now is._

_Farewell._

The note was signed with a shaky hand. Barbara wiped away the drops of water that had fallen onto the plastic sleeve. She read the note again. Her hands shook as she stood. She needed air. "I need a fag."

"Ma'am?"

Barbara turned. The young policewoman held out a packet of cigarettes. Barbara nodded. "Ta."

"Lighter's inside."

"Thank you. I'll just be outside."


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry for the delay, I had some pressing family issues.

* * *

Tommy reread the letter then placed it carefully on the table. He took a deep breath. He felt raw and exposed. It said so much of what he felt, and yet left an equal amount unsaid. He dreaded the effect it would have on Barbara. His ankle throbbed and the sound of his heartbeat seemed to wrack his whole body. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He needed a moment before he could move.

"Everything all right, Sir?"

Tommy looked up at the anxious face of a young female constable. "Where's Sergeant Havers?"

"Out in the yard, Sir."

He heard genuine fear in her voice. "Thank you. And don't worry, her bark is much worse than her bite."

He took the opportunity to watch her. Barbara's back rested against the wall of the neat rear garden. She lifted her foot and braced it against the bricks as she lit the cigarette. As she drew the smoke into her lungs, she coughed before closing her eyes. He remembered that old familiar feeling of calmness. She finished it quickly then lit another.

He took a few steps towards her. "They said you'd be out here."

Barbara looked up. "Sir?"

Through the haze of smoke he saw a grim smile. He took another step forward. "Why are you smoking?"

"I don't know. Calm my nerves. I needed an excuse to get out of there." She looked up. "Why are you here?"

He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, relieved that she buried her face in his armpit. "I know Harry's family. I can let them know."

"I'm the senior officer. I should do it... but it might be better coming from you."

"I understand."

"When I heard the street, I nearly..."

Tommy hugged her and gently kissed the top of her head. "I know. That's why I came down." He tapped his crutch against her ankle. "I... saw the police arrive. At first I wasn't intending to interfere. Then I spotted your car."

"I'd never have picked you for the type of neighbour who out watches from behind their curtain."

"Neither did I, but I guessed what had happened."

"Did you have any idea? Before I mean."

Tommy shook his head. "None. He always seemed the life of the party. Harry was the upbeat one everyone else turned to for help. I admired the way he had coped. I had no idea he was suffering like that. Poor man."

Barbara nodded then turned her face back into his shoulder. "It... was..."

"Come on. Let's get the formalities done, then go back to my place where we can talk."

"We don't need to... talk."

"Don't we? I read the note."

"Yeah, but that was his note. It was... spooky though. How did his wife and child die?"

"Childbirth. There were complications during the delivery. They both died."

"Oh, that's terrible. The poor man. Who was his special friend?"

"That I don't know, although his secretary is my bet. I have seen her a few times. Very proper—almost Victorian in her manner."

"You mean a prude? With pearls and a twin set?"

He tried not to smile but only partially succeeded. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"It will be a shock for her too. I mean..."

Tommy nodded. "We need to talk."

She shook her head. "I can't. Not yet. I'm okay."

"I'm not. I really need to talk, Barbara."

This time she looked carefully at his eyes. Beyond the relief at seeing him was a dark and troubled cloud. She knew, and he needed to explain. "Sure."

He reached in his pocket and pulled out his keys then pressed them into her hand. "Take these and let yourself in. I'll tidy up here. There is beer in my fridge, or whiskey in my study."

"I may never go into your study again."

"That's the problem with these houses, they all tend to look the same."

Barbara laughed. "I'll take your word for that. Sort of like worker's cottages for the rich."

He nodded. "We're really not all that different. The same issues. Go. I'll be home shortly."

* * *

Tommy found her sitting in his reception room off the kitchen leaning forward on the couch with her chin on her hands. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Want another beer?"

"Ta. Need it more like. That's bad in itself."

He laughed softly. "You are a long way from alcoholism. I on the other hand..."

"Don't, Sir. It was... it could have been you. I know the ankle has been an excuse. I nearly died when I heard it was a toff from Eaton Terrace."

"They would never have asked you to investigate if I had shot myself."

"I realised that. About 30 seconds too late. I... it was the worst 30 seconds of my life."

He sat beside and pulled her into an embrace. "I have thought about it. A lot. But I always think of you. I couldn't do that too you."

"But what if... what if one day the demons get too much?"

"I know your number."

"What if I don't answer? What if I'm in the shower?"

He smiled. "Then I will always imagine you in the shower and ring back."

"What?"

"Wait here."

He stood. His ankle was on fire but this was important. He went to his study and unlocked the drawer. He fetched out a bundle of letters and returned to Barbara.

"Sir?"

"Read these." He handed them to her and sat in the only chair in the room.

Barbara turned the bundle over in her hands then slowly pulled the string tying them together. She placed them on the table. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the first one. As she read tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

After the third letter, Barbara wiped her nose on her sleeve leaving a wet trail. "I can't read any more."

He closed his eyes. Finally she knew the truth. "That's okay."

She flicked through the bundle. "They're all addressed to me."

"Because you're the only one who matters. I don't care what the rest of the world think. I was trying to explain it to you."

"I'm glad I never had to read one after... The last one is dated yesterday."

He nodded. "Yes."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "That's the thing. It's never when I am at my lowest. It's rationale. I just... you read them. I just... I don't want to die as such, I just want the pain to end. I want to forget all my past. It's like I have stuffed up this life so badly that it's best I go back to being an ant or a cockroach and work my soul back up to being human."

"What are you talking about?"

"Reincarnation. Buddhism."

"You die, you die. I don't believe in all that afterlife stuff. It just ends."

"Even so. Maybe the world would be better off without me taking up oxygen."

She gave one of her hard, disapproving stares. "If we all gave up and killed ourselves when we realise we have stuffed up our lives, none of us would make 21. You... yeah, you've made mistakes, but we all have. As you well know, I've made some absolute doozies. Some of yours haunt you, but you're not exactly Robinson Crusoe there."

"Do you ever...?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I have, but I always think that Terry didn't want to die. I have been given life, so I owe it to him to do the best I can. I'll never be perfect, but I can make a difference somehow."

He smiled weakly. "You make all the difference to me."

She stood and walked over to him. He was unsure what she would do. He feared a slap, but her eyes told him that was far from her mind. He opened his arms. She sat heavily on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, cradling his head against her chest. "Oh, Tommy... Tommy... Tommy..."

Hearing his name, he finally let his tears fall.

* * *

She sat back and pushed the lock of hair that had fallen over his eye behind his ear. Her touch was light. The tips of her fingers brushed his face. It felt tentative and tender. "I'm glad you never... took action."

"I tried. At least half of those letters preceded me making some... preparations."

"Oh, Tommy. No."

He nodded and chuckled. "Often I was too drunk to do it properly. I fell asleep thinking about."

"It's not funny."

"No, it's not. The thing is, sometimes just writing it down helped. Committing to paper how I felt. Acknowledging it was real. Allowing myself to think it through."

"Most of the letters... do they say the same thing?"

"More or less. Read this one." He handed her the one he had written the night before.

Barbara sat more upright and read the letter. A crease deepened in her forehead. Tommy watched her eyes for some indication of her response. When she finished she lifted his chin to look him square in the eyes. "You should have talked to me instead of writing this. I would have set you straight."

"Told me I was being a self-indulgent fool?"

"No, told you that no matter what, I will always listen. I will always be here for you, even if you are wallowing. Told you that if you die, I die. Maybe not physically, but in in here." She took his hand and placed it over her heart which was beating even faster than his.

"Barbara? Is this a bad time to say I love you?"

She shook her head. "Is it ever bad to tell someone that? Maybe if more people said it, the world would be a kinder place. I... I love you too, Tommy. More than... more than anything."

"I need you Barbara. It scares me how much."

"I know. We're both so... self-contained, but I need you too." She whacked him on the arm. "So don't you ever dare shoot yourself or hang yourself... or find any other way."

"You don't think I have problems? Am I mad?"

"Yes, you have demons, but that doesn't make you mad, just human. A demon shared is a demon slayed."

"Did you just make that up?"

"Yeah, kinda. Sorta worked didn't did?"

He nodded and grinned at her. "Oddly enough, yes."

"So let's slay demons. Your notes mention your father. Tell me about him."

* * *

It was almost dawn when they stopped talking. Tommy had told her everything about his past. He knew some of it had shocked her, but when she had torn down her reinforced barriers and shared some of her guilt and shame and failures, he had known she would never dessert him. At one o'clock, his legs had developed pins and needles and they had moved to his couch, and now they lay together on the oversized chaise lounge section. He tightened his grip around her. "Don't go."

"What indication did I give that I was going?"

"None, but I..."

She leant up on her elbow. "Tommy, listen to me. I admit this... physical contact is a bit weird, but it's a bit like 1989 isn't it? You have to do it for it to be real."

"1989?"

"When they torn a hole in the Berlin Wall and all those people were finally able to see their family again. They clung to each other as if they were never letting go. In reality, they had to at some stage, but that feeling stayed I think. We are friends. Family of choosing. I will always be here for you."

"I love you, Barbara." Tommy had his hand on her shoulder. He pulled her back down and kissed her.

She pulled away. "What are you doing?"

His eyes went wide and his heart stopped. "I... I thought you loved me too."

She nodded. "I do... but... sex won't cure anything. It will only complicate it."

Tommy struggled to breathe. "Are you saying you don't love me that way?"

"No, I not saying that. I'm saying that everything is raw. When the Wall came down, Germany wasn't suddenly one again. That took months. I am just saying we need to give each other some time. Let what will be, happen."

"As always, you make sense, but..." He looked straight into her eyes fearing the truth.

"I want it too, Tommy, you have no idea how much, but we need to be sure. There are so many issues, work, your family, where it might lead, what happens if it fails..." She put her finger over his lips. "Shhh. Don't try to answer that now. Let's just promise to always be here for the other. The rest will follow, however it is meant to be." She lay down and put her arm over his waist and rolled against him.

Tommy returned the embrace. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. "I promise."

* * *

**AN:** This was my original ending. I toyed with changing it so they fell into bed, but for once I wanted to write a story where their deep friendship was centre stage. Germany did reunify, so you can use your imaginations to assume a romantic ending.


End file.
